Growing up
by Moonwolf86
Summary: Sherlock and Mycroft have never been close, but once upon a time they where brothers. This is a story that goes into the Holmes brother's childhood together. I know that a lot of people have written stories similar to this one but this is my take on how the Holmes boys grew up, I'll try my best to stay true to the characters, I promise. rated T for future chapters. Please review!
1. Chapter 1: The Pirate Life

**Hello readers! Ok this is my new story about Mycroft and Sherlock as children, I'm gonna tell it through different periods in the boys lives so not every chapter will connect directly with the last, for example this chapter is written when the boys are eleven and four but the next may take place when they're seventeen and ten I don't know yet though. Please read and review, it really helps whenever I get a suggestion, this is only my second fanfiction and for all those who read my first fic I thank you for sticking around! And if you haven't and you like the SherlockxIrene shipping I would be so happy for you to check it out! Thanks, and Enjoy!**

Chapter 1: The Pirate Life

Eleven year old Mycroft Holmes woke with a groan to the high pitched babbling of his four year old brother. Sherlock was decked out in a full out pirate uniform, complete with a plastic sword, colorful bandana, and an eye patch, as he hopped up onto his brothers bed and excitedly bounced on and around Mycroft.

"Sherlock what is it?", Mycroft demanded, "It's six in the morning!" he exclaimed exasperatedly as he glanced at his alarm clock.

"Mummy's going to take us to see a pirate play today!" Sherlock exclaimed breathlessly, his bright blue eyes lit up with excitement as he continued to bounce.

Looking back at his younger brother, now quite awake, Mycroft continued more gently, "And did Mummy tell you this?" He asked.

"No but I saw tickets with pictures of a pirate on them in her handbag, and I heard her talking to Daddy about there being a pirate play in the park a few days ago, so I know that she'll take us there today." He replied distractedly, his mind occupied with exciting visions of pirates plundering the seas.

"Well Sherlock, I wouldn't get my hopes too high, you don't know for sure until Mummy tells you herself." Mycroft informed his brother, not wanting Sherlock to get disappointed if their mother did not in fact plan for the play.

Snapping out of his fantasies, Sherlock looked indignantly back at his brother and assured Mycroft,"Of course we're going to the play!" Didn't you hear what I just told you?"

Sighing, Mycroft replied, "Of course I did, I'm just saying that you shouldn't get upset if we don't end up going to the play is all."

Although, to be fair, Sherlock was usually right when it came to things like this. Not even able to read yet, Sherlock had an amazing knack for reading people as easily as an adult would read the paper, displaying very sharp attention to detail, and the promise of an attentive and advanced brain.

Although quite intellectually above average himself, Mycroft was still sometimes taken aback by his baby brother's exceptional observation skills. Mycroft himself had the advantage of keen observation skills, but Sherlock's where admittedly more enhanced.

Getting out of bed at his brother's insistence, Mycroft padded slowly towards the kitchen for breakfast, the aroma of his mother's cooking ensuring him a delicious Sunday breakfast, Sherlock bouncing about excitedly behind spouting random facts about pirates his voice laced with deep admiration.

Arriving at the table, a delicious breakfast awaiting the brothers as Mycroft had expected, their mother exclaimed cheerily, "Good morning boys!" planting a loving kiss atop each child's head. "And how did you sleep?" She asked as she piled a delicious assortment of breakfast items on her sons' plates. They both murmured replies and as she nodded back, Sherlock blurted out, "So when are we going to see the pirate show?" Earning himself a pointed look from his older brother.

Looking slightly taken aback, their mother replied, "Well that was supposed to be a surprise mister." Ruffling her son's curly hair, she continued, "But since you caught me, the play starts at noon."

"Yay!" Sherlock exclaimed, looking smugly back at his brother, which was returned with a defeated sort of scowl.

"But we'll only go if you finish your food Sherlock, you haven't even touched it." She exclaimed, looking pointedly a his full plate.

His face falling, Sherlock whined, "Do I have to?"

"Yes dear, the whole thing, you barely eat, you need to stay healthy." She told him, adding encouragingly, "You know pirates have to eat well, if not they would never have the strength to bury all of that treasure of theirs." She coaxed.

Looking reluctantly back at his plate, Sherlock gingerly forked a tiny piece of waffle into his mouth.

"That's my good boy." She exclaimed warmly, rewarding him with another quick kiss to the forehead as he slowly picked off the rest of his meal.

It was a beautiful day at the park, the weather was wonderful and the temperature was just right, which to Sherlock, meant a perfect day for a pirate show, and to a degree, Mycroft as well. Although he insisted that he was too old for such a childish pastime as a children's play, he was secretly quite excited for the play to begin. By the end as the audience began to disperse, Mycroft looked to his brother, his face flushed with excitement as he exclaimed,

"Wasn't that great, Sherlock!"

Sherlock looked back at his brother, disappointment flashing in his eyes, and replied dully, "They weren't real pirates."

Trying to keep his brother's childish beliefs intact, Mycroft replied insistantly, "Of course they're real pirates, Sherlock, didn't you see their swords?"

A look of exasperation etched on his face, Sherlock retorted loudly, "Well did You see their shoes?! I know they're not real pirates just like I know that Father Christmas isn't even a real person!" His small voice raised in anger, making the other children within hearing distance look up in shock.

As a dilemma began to unfold in the once peaceful park, Mrs. Holmes looked up from her book in alarm as she hastily collected her children, and steered them quickly towards the car.

. **So as you can see I built this chapter around the scene in Scandal in Belgravia when Mycroft mentions that Sherlock originally wanted to be a pirate when he was young, also I sort of hinted at Sherlock's deduction skills and how he differed from other children his age. Hope you all liked it, the next chapter may take a bit because school starts tomorrow and I might be a bit swamped from here on in :P sorry about that**


	2. Chapter 2: School Days

**Finally chapter 2! sorry about the wait, with school, and some major writers block, I've sort of let the time slip by with this story so sorry :P. But here it is, next chapter I want to focus on how the boys start to grow apart so I really hope you saty on board with this story, I really appreciate the time you take to come and read my stories, I understand how busy it must be for a lot of you with the Summer over, so thanks! Oh and also sorry if this chapter is a bit crudely written, like I said I'm getting over a case of writer's block so very sorry :P!**

Chapter 2 School Days:

It was a crisp autumn morning one September, and thirteen year old Mycrof Holmes stood on the curb outside his house, anxiously awaiting his younger brother in order to escort him to school. Sherlock was just on the brink of turning six years old, and for the past few weeks, could not seem to stop rambling on about starting kindergarten. Sherlock had already figured out how to read and do simple math from an assortment of books along with a bit of guidance from Mycroft, but was ecstatic about being presented with such an exciting learning outlet as primary school. Mycroft on the other hand was a bit uneasy about his little brother diving into kindergarten, although Sherlock was a quick and attentive learner when interested, he easily slipped into a state of annoyed and slightly destructive boredom, and unfortunately , Sherlock was already quite familiar with the topics covered in kindergarten. Additionally, Sherlock was not very good at interacting with children his age, or any children for that matter, he tended to act very blunt and superior towards others as he matter-of-factly observed their glaring faults in a loud manner, and even managed to come off as quite full of himself in the process, more so than even an average child his age, which usually made the other children and parents uneasy and where quite often than not driven away, much to the poor boy's confusion.

Keeping all this in mind, Mycroft was understandably on edge, mostly for the sake of his little brother, who remained oblivious to any concerns.

Once Sherlock finally appeared at the doorway and reluctantly allowed his mother to kiss him goodbye, Mycroft hurried the small boy down the street towards the school yard, where other new kindergarteners milled about nervously, clinging to their parents knees. Sherlock, however, boldly walked through the gate, with only a slight wave to his brother, as he ran excitedly to inspect his new environment. Mycroft remained stationary at the gate, looking uneasily at his brother's small frame as he weaved swiftly between his potential classmates. A teacher finally addressed Mycroft, and sternly advised him to be on his way to his own school. Nodding reluctantly, Mycroft turned, and headed towards the high school, having achieved expectations and skipped over a grade or two, glancing every now and then back at Sherlock, who had managed to annoy another small boy who had approached him. Mycroft was not at all worried about his own school experience, having discovered the necessities for a good academic experience early on, and surrounded himself with peers who considered him their friend, but he only kept them around for social purposes. He had discovered that keeping a firm grip on those in which you keep within close proximity proved as an excellent tactic to maintain a certain degree of control over the masses, which despite his astounding intellect, Mycroft dreaded that Sherlock would not account for.

When the final bell rang, Mycroft collected his things and rushed back to the primary school to retrieve Sherlock, impatient to find out what had happened to the young boy. Upon arriving, his heart sank. Bouncing children poured out the front gates giddy with excitement as they shouted halfway across the school yard to their new friends as their parents dragged them reluctantly away, but trailing slowly behind the bustling crowd, stood the defeated form of his younger brother, his eyes bloodshot from crying, tears running down his face. Instantly, Mycroft was at his side, putting his arm protectively over his brother's shoulder and called in the direction of one of the teachers he had seen welcoming the nervous students in in the morning. As she looked up to see who was calling her, her eyes landed on the Holmes brothers, pausing uneasily on Sherlock as she turned away pretending not to hear.

Enraged, Mycroft steered his brother home, shielding him protectively with his arm as he escorted him away, their mother had gone out for the day, enlisting Mycroft as "temporary general guardian of the abode and all occupants", as she jokingly called it, seeing as their father was rarely home in her absence. So upon unlocking the front door, Mycroft guided his brother to the living room and calmly began to coax Sherlock into explaining what had happened that day.

Whimpering, Sherlock gulped back tears and spluttered, "it it was all so easy, I got every single question! And all the other children where so so Stupid! So I let the the teacher know and she told me I had to sit in the corner for for a bit, but I didn't want to go to the corner, so I told her that she must be stupid too cuz I saw that she didn't finish school herself so she got stuck as an assistant at my school, so I had to go to the corner for an extra long time. Then at tea time, I wanted to play pirate with the other boys, but none of them knew how to be proper pirates so I told them off and they didn't want to play with me and they made fun of me." He rambled, his words blurring together as he got more and more riled up until he finally burrowed his head in the couch cushion and fell quite.

Mycroft looked sadly at his brother and without a word, placed a gentle comforting hand on the other boy's thin arm, and reassured him softly, "Don't worry I'll explain this to Mummy and we can wait a bit, you can try again next year, kindergarten can wait, and even after that you're bound to get pushed up a few years anyways so It'll be like there wasn't even a difference".

His voice muffled by the pillow, Sherlock replied stubbornly, " No way, It's much too boring to be stuffed up at home like during the summer, and preschool was even worse than kindergarten, I'm not leaving."

Seeing that it was no use in trying to persuade his brother further, Mycroft merely sighed and went to do his homework, leaving Sherlock with his head buried in the couch like some kind of lonely ostrich.


	3. Chapter 3: Lessons of Confrontation

**Hi everyone! So here's chapter three, I do realize that my previous chapters may have been a bit over long, sorry but I'll try to work on that. I really hope that you are all enjoying my story, and if you could take the time to review I would appreciate it so much, i could really benefit from your suggestions. Enjoy!**  
Chapter 3:

Mycroft walked through the familiar doorway of his childhood home, the cracked wooden doorframe, and peeling paint filling him with a sense of welcome and nostalgia. Immediately following his arrival, his mother appeared from the kitchen, a broad smile glowing on her face as she embraced her elder son.

At seventeen, Mycroft had graduated early with outstanding grades, allowing him to attend an esteemed university and pursue a career in politics, which had always captured his interest, but that meant almost no time with his family. So in the wake of his parents somewhat inevitable divorce, he tried his best to visit as often as possible, especially with Sherlock's deteriorating reputation. But unfortunately as a very busy twenty five year old prodigy pursuing a high end government career, it wasn't always easy.

Looking up from his mother's silver toned locks, Mycroft asked, "Where's Sherlock?"

A flash of worry shone from his mother's eyes as they always did upon hearing her younger son's name, "He's in his bedroom I think, I try to talk to him but he barely ever comes out". She replied

Looking at his mother's concerned, almost frightened face, Mycroft was filled with a sense of dread and worry for his brother's wellbeing. Sherlock's health and grades had rapidly declined in the wake of his somewhat uninvolved father's abandonment and his brother's departure, he had become dangerously withdrawn, dismissing his education as unimportant and dull and chasing others away. He barely ate, despite his mother's pleas, and had developed an almost translucent sickly complexion.

These worrying thoughts whirled through Mycroft's mind as he reluctantly trudged up the stairs, unsure if he wanted to see what the ghost of his bubbly baby brother had become.

Slowly opening the creaky oak door to his brother's bedroom, not bothering to knock, he was overtaken by stone cold shock.

Lying on the bed was the eighteen year old skeleton of Sherlock Holmes, his boney fingers pressing a pristine white needle to his moon pale forearm, his high sunken cheekbones outlining an expression of drug induced pleasure.

Hot bubbling rage melting his initial frozen shock, Mycroft swept across the cluttered room and wrenched the cold peircing needle from his brother's skin.

Sitting up woozily, Sherlock exclaimed, "Hey, give it back, it helps me think". The effects of the injection slurring his speech and clouding his astoundingly blue eyes.

Waving the needle angrily, Mycroft retorted, "This is the last straw, Sherlock you are worrying Mother to her grave, killing your grades giving yourself virtually no shot at a future at anything, and shutting everyone out by wrenching them open like a book! This bullshit ends here you hear me, your senior year you are going to use every ounce of brainpower you've got from that head of yours, make at least three friends, and stuff those god damned needles where even you're genius ass can't find them, clear?"He commanded punctuating every syllable with superiority and red hot rage.

"I need the drugs Mycroft my thoughts are at there peak with them, my brain can take it, and as for all the rest of that shit I don't need any of that." Shaking slightly out of his daze having only forced the slightest amount of the clear liquid into his system before his brother had burst in.

Instead of replying, Mycroft simply got up and began to search Sherlock's bedroom for more pelophanelia uncovering all but one broken drug related item.

He looked back to his brother, his eyes full of disappointment and tightly advised, "Think Sherlock". Then getting up to leave adding, "Mother is just about ready for dinner, make yourself presentable and come downstairs." Leaving the teenager confused and dumbfounded at his brother's sudden loss of emotion.

Later to his own surprise, Sherlock was seated willingly at the dinner table his striking blue eyes framed by messy dark curls making him appear even more dishevelled in comparison to his brother's professional attire and neat crewcut.

Their mother glanced at her sons, who remained tense and quiet, both refusing to make eye contact with the other. She uncertainly asked, "Well how are your studies going Mycroft?"

Her son murmured a curt and unenthusiastic response as she nodded encouragingly and turned to a still muteSherlock trying to reel him into the awkward conversation.

Behind her desperate attempts to ease the uncomfortableness, she was just overjoyed that they could sit down together for what felt like the first family meal in an eternity. To her it felt as if her divorce had unleashed a chaotic end to the blissful, happy life they had enjoyed together as a unity, and brought forth instead a new post-apocalyptic life, destroying everything from their peaceful existence along with the people they had once been.


	4. Chapter 4: Mother's Day

**Hi again everyone! As you know things are running a bit slow, I am just getting piles of homework and the tests keep coming, so forgive me if I don't update as much as I did when I was writing the Sociopath's Daughter (ah the joys of summer vacation don't we all miss it ;) Anyways I appreciate the time you are taking out of your own busy lives to read this and remember I live for reviews so please please please if you could, feedback is much appreciated! I would love to know what you think!**

Chapter 4:

Despite his ignorant demeanor, Sherlock headed his brother's advice. His grades surged higher than they had ever been. He made a point of becoming more social with his mother, allowing her to feel involved in his life, and not cooping himself up in his room. And when the time came for him to go off for his university education, he made feeble attempts to try for friends, earning him the slight acknowledgment of a pompous wealthy boy named Sebastian and his posse, although he didn't particularly like the other boys which was met with jealously over Sherlock's mental ability and frankly the female attraction that Sherlock's oblivious good looks had snared.

But all together Sherlock had made enough effort to please his brother, improving their relationship slightly, although it would always remain tense and strained, never really recovering properly.

Despite Sherlock's efforts to improve himself, sometime during his second year in university, tragedy struck. Up until this time, the boys mother had been ill, she had waved off her family's concern, assuring them that she would recover. But one evening she desperately called her sons home, concerned that her breathing wasn't right. Sherlock and Mycroft rushed home, and found their mother sprawled out in her bed, looking like a shadow of her former self. Every one of he bones jutted painfully under sickly pale loose skin, and laboured breathing rasped loudly, echoing loudly in the otherwise silent room.

Mycroft and Sherlock where immediately at her side, Sherlock positioned silently at her side, unmoving, While Mycroft busied himself over her, checking her pulse and gently scolding her for not calling sooner. Concern outlined on both young men's features.

"Oh thank you both for coming, I haven't seen either of you in so long, but i'm just so proud of both of you." She rasped weakly, shining blue eyes looking from one son to the other.

Although neither Sherlock nor Mycroft where very much familiar with the medical field, they could not deny the obvious signs of their mother's fatal condition as they sombrely observed that their was nothing that could be done for her survival.

Their attentions adverted back to her words as she continued weakly, "Oh I know we had it rough, your father was never around and when we separated things just got so bad, but we muddled through and I'm just so proud."

Mycroft looked swiftly to his brothers unreadable features as the younger man simply kept his gaze fixated on his mother's small frame.

"And you where just the sweetest children always so close." She continued, missing her son's quick one sided exchange, "I'm so glad you stayed that way."

This time both men looked guiltily away from each other.

"Mycroft?" Their mother repeated.

"I'm sorry what mother?" said Mycroft as he turned back to his mother.

"I asked if you could get me a nice cup of tea." She repeated.

"Oh of course" he replied and promptly strode out of the room. Sherlock remained, unsure of what to do with his terminal mother. He felt as though his stomach had turned to stone, his mother's immanent demise harshly etched in bold lettering, hanging like a cloud in the air, with nothing he could do.

Noticing his mother had fallen asleep, the wiry young man awkwardly straightened her sheets and swiftly followed his brother out, hesitating at the doorframe, his electric blue eyes darkening as he gazed back at his mother's still form.


	5. Chapter 5: Til death do us part

**Hello all! What has it been weeks? months? since my last update? So sorry I have been experiencing computer difficulties and the demands of my education. Again so sorry hope I havn't lost any of you! Please review!**

The boys remained at their mothers side for the following month or so, excused from any prior engagements due to their mothers grave condition.

During the time they spent together, the brothers did their best to avoid each other to an extent, refraining from voicing their concerns and skirting around each other like mice. Preferring to tolerate the other's company with absolute minimum contact. This game of stay away lasted for months only ending when the foreseen death of their mother forced them to confrontation.

Tears gleamed in Mycroft's eyes as he stood alone in his mother's empty bedroom, the body had already been carted off to the funeral home, and the imprint of her frail body was still slightly outlined on the undisturbed sheets.

He had lost his mother, and although his father was probably still blowing around god knows where, he felt like an orphan. The one person who had loved him unconditionally, and seen only light where others saw darkness, was gone, and he felt so alone. He sunk into a sitting position on the bed, bearing the strain of his grief like the world was balanced on his shoulders.

Downstairs, Sherlock stood at the window, gazing out at the street, still as stone. At twenty, rage filled every fiber of his young body. He hated his father for leaving, his brother for caring, and his mother for dying. All of his forgotten frustration, buried for years suddenly bubbled to the surface, and he was lost.

Sherlock turned around, his eyes falling on his mother's antique cabinet. The small oak cabinet was their mother's prized possession, and was the proud center piece of the room. Storming across the room toward's where the cabinet was situated, Sherlock flung open the creaky doors and shuffled through the contents. As a child Sherlock was told never to snoop around inside of the cabinet, and although childish, opening it filled him with a burning sense of giddiness and curiosity born from years of underlying desire to find out what was inside.

After a moment of impatiently rummaging around the contents of the antique cabinet, angrily tossing random items to the floor, which had been since lovingly preserved and stored by his mother only to be unceremoniously thrown out. The treasures hitting the hard wood floor with an insignificant thump as he continued his investigation. Suddenly, his body stiffened and the angry fluttering movement of his hands ceased giving way to a shock muddled gentleness as he slowly extracted a handsome violin.

As his fingers slowly moved up and down the polished wooden exterior, taking in every physical detail, his mind conjured up vivid memories of his father, who rarely acknowledged his family, standing for hours at the window, the soft hum of the violin reflecting his mood and captured his entire focus as his young sons listened from the other room.

Even as a self declared sociopath, the strength of this memory jolted the usually emotionless, cold, distant young man, the only visible sign of which was a soft thump as the small string instrument slipped out of his pale fingers and landed on the carpeted floor.

Looking down, the usual alert sparkle returning to his clear blue eyes, he laid one foot on the thin wooden handle of the delicate instrument, and, his face void of emotion, pressed down, the room filling with a sickening crunch as the dying violin splintering with a painful scream.

Upstairs, Mycroft's grief tormented eyes looked up as the cry of the violins last words reached his ears. Puzzled, he simply shook his head, tired of babysitting his brother, and shifted his long sad gaze back to the bed where he sat in silence.


End file.
